CHAPTER XV
THE CATASTROPHE
A demon of unrest, twin devil to that which had so clutched and tornat the sensitive spirit of Rufus Hardy, seemed to rise up with thedawn of that ill-omened day and seize upon the camp at Hidden Water.It was like a touch of the north wind, which rumples the cat's back,sets the horses to fighting in the corrals, and makes men mean andgenerally contrary. Bill Johnson's hounds were the first to feel themadness. They left before sun-up, heading for the wooded heights ofthe Juate, and led him a weary chase. At the last moment Creedeabandoned the unprofitable working of The Rolls and ordered the_rodeo_ up onto Bronco Mesa; and Kitty Bonnair, taking advantage ofhis preoccupation, quietly gave him the slip at the end of their longeastern detour, and turned her pinto's head toward the river.
As for Kitty, her will was the wind's will, which changes with thetimes and seasons but is accountable to no universal law. Never in herlife had she met a man who could quarrel like Rufus Hardy. Beneathher eye he was as clay in the hands of the potter; every glance spokelove, and for her alone. And yet it was something more than asmouldering resentment which made him avoid her, riding out before thedawn; more than the tremulous bashfulness which had stayed his handwhen at times he might have taken hers. There was something deep,hidden, mysterious, lurking in those fawnlike eyes, and it made himinsurgent against her will. It was a secret, hidden from all theworld, which he must yield to her. And then she would forgive him forall the unhappiness he had caused her and teach him what a thing it isfor a woman to love and be misunderstood. But first--first she mustsee him alone; she must burst upon him suddenly, taking his heart bystorm as she had on that first day, and leave the rest to fate. So shelingered to gather some flowers which nodded among the rocks, the shyand dainty forget-me-nots which they had picked together at home; andwhen Creede was over the first ridge she struck out boldly up a sidecanyon, tucking the miniature bouquet into the shadows of her hair.
The southern flank of Bronco Mesa breaks off sharply above theSalagua, rising slowly by slopes and terraced benches to the heights,and giving way before the river in a succession of broken ridges.Along these summits run winding trails, led high to escape the rougherground. Urged on by the slashings of her quirt, Pinto gallopedrecklessly through this maze of cow paths until as if by magic thegreat valley lay before them. There in its deep canyon was the riverand the river trail--and a man, mounted upon a sorrel horse, savagelyintent upon his way. For a minute Kitty studied him curiously as hehustled along, favoring his horse up the hills but swinging to thestirrup as he dodged bushes across the flats; then she flung out herhand impulsively, and called his name. In a flash he was up in hissaddle, looking. Chapuli tossed his head and in the act caught aglimpse of the other horse--then they both stood rigid, gazing inastonishment at the living statue against the sky. At sight of thatwitching figure, beckoning him from the mountain top, Hardy's heartleaped within him and stopped. Once more the little hand was thrownout against the sky and a merry voice floated down to him from thesun-touched heights.
"Hello, Rufus!" it called teasingly, and still he sat gazing up ather. All the untamed passions of his being surged up and choked hisvoice--he could not answer. His head turned and he gazed furtivelyover his shoulder to the east, where his duty lay. Then of his ownaccord Chapuli stepped from the trail and began to pick his waysoberly up the hill.
From the high summit of the butte all the world lay spread out like apanorama,--the slopes and canyons of Bronco Mesa, picketed with giant_sahuaros_; the silvery course of the river flowing below; theunpeopled peaks and cliffs of the Superstitions; and a faint haze-likezephyr, floating upon the eastern horizon. And there at last the eyesof Rufus Hardy and Kitty Bonnair met, questioning each other, and theworld below them took on a soft, dreamy veil of beauty.
"Why, how did you come here?" he asked, looking down upon herwonderingly. "Were you lost?"
And Kitty smiled wistfully as she answered:
"Yes--till I found you."
"Oh!" said Hardy, and he studied her face warily, as if doubtful ofher intent.
"But how could you be lost," he asked again, "and travel so far? Thisis a rough country, and you got here before I did."
He swung down from his horse and stood beside her, but Kitty onlylaughed mischievously and shook her head--at which, by some lover'smagic, the dainty forget-me-nots fell from her hair in a shower ofsnowy blossoms.
"I was lost," she reiterated, smiling into his eyes, and in her gazeHardy could read--"without you."
For a moment the stern sorrow of the night withheld him. His eyesnarrowed, and he opened his lips to speak. Then, bowing his head, heknelt and gathered up the flowers.
"Yes," he said gently, "I understand. I--I have been lost, too."
They smiled and sat down together in the shadow of a great rock,gazing out over the peaks and pinnacles of the mountains which wall inHidden Water and talking placidly of the old days--until at last, whenthe spell of the past was on him, Kitty fell silent, waiting for himto speak his heart.
But instantly the spell of her laughter was broken an uneasy thoughtcame upon Hardy, and he glanced up at the soaring sun.
"Jeff will be worried about you," he said at last. "He will think youare lost and give up the _rodeo_ to hunt for you. We must not stayhere so long."
He turned his head instinctively as he spoke, and Kitty knew he wasthinking of the sheep.
"Cattle and sheep--cattle and sheep," she repeated slowly. "Is therenothing else that counts, Rufus, in all this broad land? Mustfriendship, love, companionship, all go down before cattle and sheep?I never knew before what a poor creature a woman was until I came toArizona."
She glanced at him from beneath her drooping lashes, and saw his jawsset tense.
"And yet only yesterday," he said, with a sombre smile, "you hadtwenty men risking their lives to give you some snake-tails forplaythings."
"But my old friend Rufus was not among them," rejoined Kitty quietly;and once more she watched the venom working in his blood.
"No," he replied, "he refuses to compete with Bill Lightfoot at anyprice."
"Oh, Rufus," cried Kitty, turning upon him angrily, "aren't youashamed? I want you to stop being jealous of all my friends. It is themeanest and most contemptible thing a man can do. I--I won't standit!"
He glanced at her again with the same set look of disapproval stillupon his face.
"Kitty," he said, "if you knew what lives some of those men lead--thethoughts they think, the language they speak--you--you would not--" Hestopped, for the sudden tears were in her eyes. Kitty was crying.
"No!" said Kitty, "you do not love me"]
"Oh, Rufus," she sobbed, "if--if you only knew! Who else could I gowith--how--how else--Oh, I cannot bear to be scolded and--I only didit to make you jealous!" She bowed her head against her knees andHardy gazed at her in awe, shame and compassion sweeping over him ashe realized what she had done.
"Kitty--dear," he stammered, striving to unlock the twisted fingers,"I--I didn't understand. Look, here are your flowers and--I love you,Kitty, if I am a brute." He took one hand and held it, stroking thelittle fingers which he had so often longed to caress. But with asudden wilfulness she turned her face away.
"Don't you love me, Kitty?" he pleaded. "Couldn't you, if I should tryto be good and kind? I--I don't understand women--I know I have hurtyou--but I loved you all the time. Can't you forgive me, Kitty?"
But Kitty only shook her head. "The man I love must be my master," shesaid, in a far-away voice, not looking at him. "He must value me aboveall the world."
"But, Kitty," protested Hardy, "I do--"
"No," said Kitty, "you do _not_ love me."
There was a lash to the words that cut him--a scorn half-spoken,half-expressed by the slant of her eye. As he hesitated he felt thehot blood burn at his brow.
"Rufus," she cried, turning upon him quickly, "_do_ you love me? Thentake me in your arms and kiss me!" She spoke the words fiercely,almost as a command, and
Hardy started back as if he had been shot.
"Take me in your arms and kiss me!" she repeated evenly, a flash ofscorn in her eyes. But the man who had said he loved her faltered andlooked away.
"Kitty," he said gently, "you know I love you. But--"
"But what?" she demanded sharply.
"I--I have never--"
"Well," said Kitty briefly, "it's all over--you don't have to! I justwanted to show you--" She paused, and her lip curled as she gazed athim from a distance. "Look at my horse," she exclaimed suddenly,pointing to where Pinto was pawing and jerking at his bridle rein.When Hardy leapt up to free his foot she frowned again, for that isnot the way of lovers.
He came back slowly, leading the horse, his face very pale, his eyesset.
"You were right," he said. "Shall we go?"
There was no apology in his voice, no appeal. It had grown suddenlyfirm and resonant, and he fixed her with his great honest eyessteadfastly. Something in the man seemed to rise up suddenly andrebuke her--nay, to declare her unworthy of him. The thought of thosetwo years--two years without a word--came upon Kitty and left hersober, filled with misgivings for the future. She cast about for someexcuse, some reason for delay, and still those masterful eyes werefixed upon her--sad, wistful, yet steadfast; and like a child sheobeyed them.
It was a long ride to camp, long for both of them. When he had turnedher horse into the corral Hardy wheeled and rode off up the canyon,where the hold-up herd was bellowing and there was a man's work to do.There was wild riding that day, such as Judge Ware and Lucy had neverseen before, and more than one outlaw, loping for the hills, was ropedand thrown, and then lashed back to his place in the herd. Thesensitive spirit of Chapuli responded like a twin being to the suddenmadness of his master, and the lagging _rodeo_ hands were galvanizedinto action by his impetuous ardor. And at the end, when the ropingand branding were over, Hardy rode down to the pasture for a freshmount, his eyes still burning with a feverish light and his lipsclose-drawn and silent.
The outfit was huddled about the fire eating greedily after the longday, when Creede, furtively watching his partner, saw his eyes fixedcuriously upon some object in the outer darkness. He followed theglance and beheld a hound--gaunt, lame, beseeching--limping aboutamong the mesquite trees which lined the edge of the flat.
"There's one of Bill's dogs," he remarked sociably, speaking to thecrowd in general. "Must've got sore-footed and come back. Here, Rock!Here, Rye! Here, Ring!" he called, trying the most likely names."Here, puppy--come on, boy!" And he scraped a plate in that invitingway which is supposed to suggest feed to a dog. But Hardy rose upquietly from his place and went out to the dog. A moment later hecalled to Jeff and, after a hurried conference, the two of thembrought the wanderer up to the fire.
"Hey!" called Bill Lightfoot, "that ain't one of Bill's pack--that'sold Turco, his home dog."
"Don't you think I know Bill's dogs yet?" inquired Creede scathingly."Now if you'll jest kindly keep your face shet a minute, I'll seewhat's the matter with this leg."
He clamped Turco between his knees and picked up his fore leg, whilethe old dog whined and licked his hands anxiously. There was a stainof blood from the shoulder down, and above it, cut neatly through themuscles, a gaping wound.
"That was a thirty-thirty," said Creede grimly, and every man lookedup. Thirty-thirty was a sinister number on the range--it was thecalibre of a sheep-herder's carbine.
"Aw, go on," scoffed Bill Lightfoot, rushing over to examine thewound. "Who could have shot him--away over in Hell's Hip Pocket?"
"Um--that's it," observed Creede significantly. "What you goin' to do,Rufe?"
"I'm going over there," answered Hardy, throwing the saddle on hishorse. He looked over his shoulder as he heaved on the cinch. "That'swhere that dust was," he said, and as the outfit stood gaping he swungup and was off into the darkness.
"Hey, take my gun!" yelled Jeff, but the clatter of hoofs neverfaltered--he was going it blind and unarmed. Late that night anotherhorseman on a flea-bitten gray dashed madly after him over the Pockettrail. It was Old Bill Johnson, crazed with apprehension; and behindhim straggled his hounds, worn from their long chase after the lion,but following dutifully on their master's scent. The rest of theoutfit rode over in the morning--the punchers with their pistolsthrust into the legs of their shaps; Creede black and staring withanger; the judge asking a thousand unanswered questions and protestingagainst any resort to violence; the women tagging along helplessly,simply because they could not be left alone. And there, pouring forthfrom the mouth of Hell's Hip Pocket, came the sheep, a solid phalanx,urged on by plunging herders and spreading out over the broad mesalike an invading army. Upon the peaks and ridges round about stoodgroups of men, like skirmishers--camp rustlers with their packs andburros; herders, whose sheep had already passed through--every manwith his gun in his hand. The solid earth of the trail was worn downand stamped to dust beneath the myriad feet, rising in a cloud abovethem as they scrambled through the pass; and above all other soundsthere rose the high, sustained tremolo of the sheep:
"_Blay-ay-ay-ay! Blay-ay-ay-ay! Blay-ay-ay-ay!_"
To the ears of the herders it was music, like the thunder of stamps toa miner or the rumble of a waterfall to a lonely fisher; the old,unlistened music of their calling, above which the clamor of the worldmust fight its way. But to the cowmen it was like all hell brokenloose, a confusion, a madness, a babel which roused every passion intheir being and filled them with a lust to kill.
Without looking to the right or to the left, Jefferson Creede fixedhis eyes upon one man in that riot of workers and rode for him as acorral hand marks down a steer. It was Jasper Swope, hustling the lastof a herd through the narrow defile, and as his Chihuahuanos caughtsight of the burly figure bearing down upon the _padron_ theyabandoned their work to help him. From the hill above, Jim Swope, hisface set like iron for the conflict, rode in to back up his brother;and from far down the canyon Rufus Hardy came spurring like the wind totake his place by Creede.
In the elemental clangor of the sheep they faced each other, Creedetowering on his horse, his face furious with rage; Swope gray with thedust of his driving but undaunted by the assault.
"Stop where you are!" shouted Swope, holding out a warning hand as thecowman showed no sign of halting. But Creede came straight on, neverflinching, until he had almost ridden him down.
"You low-lived, sheep-eatin' hound," he hissed, piling in thewickedest of his range epithets, "you and me have had it comin' ferquite a while, and now I've got you. I've never yet seen a sheepmanthat would fight in the open, but you've got to or take _that_!" Heleaned over suddenly and slapped him with his open hand, laughingrecklessly at the Mexicans as they brandished their guns and shouted.
"_Quite se, cabrones_," he jeered, sorting out the worst of hisfighting Spanish for their benefit, "you are all gutter pups--you areafraid to shoot!"
"Here," rasped out Jim Swope, spurring his horse in between them,"what are you fellers tryin' to do? Git out of here, _umbre_--go onnow! Never mind, Jasp, I'll do the talkin'. You go on away, will ye!Now what's the matter with you, Mr. Creede, and what can I do foryou?"
Jasper Swope had whirled back from the blow as a rattler throws hiscoils. His gray eyes gleamed and he showed all his broken teeth as hespat back hate and defiance at Creede; but Jim was his elder brotherand had bested him more than once since the days of their boyishquarrels. Slowly and grudgingly he made way, backing sullenly off withhis Mexicans; and Jim stood alone, opposing his cold resolution to thewhite-hot wrath of Creede.
"You can turn back them sheep and git off my range!" yelled Creede."Turn 'em back, I say, or I'll leave my mark on some of you!"
"How can I turn 'em back?" argued Swope, throwing out his hands."They's ninety thousand more behind me, and all headin' through thispass."
"You know very well that this is a put-up job," retorted Creede hotly."You sheepmen have been crawlin' around on your bellies for a month toget a chanst to sheep us out, and now you
say you can't help yourself!You're the crookedest, lyingest sheep-puller in the bunch, Jim Swope.You'd rob a graveyard and show up for prayers the next mornin'. I canlick you, you big Mormon-faced stiff, with one hand tied behind me,and what's more--"
"Here now--here no-ow--" protested Swope, holding out his hand forpeace, "they ain't no call for no such talk. Mebbe you can lick me,and mebbe you can't, but it won't do you any good to try. My sheep ishere, and here they'll stay, until I git good and ready to move 'em.This is a free range and a free country, and the man ain't born thatcan make me stop."
He paused, and fixed his keen eyes upon Creede, searching him to theheart; and before that cold, remorseless gaze the fighting frenzy inhis brain died away. Meanwhile Hardy had come up from where he hadbeen turning back sheep, and as he rode in Jeff instinctively made wayfor him.
"No," replied Hardy, fastening his stern eyes upon the iron visage ofthe sheepman, "not if the lives of a thousand cattle and the lastpossessions of a dozen men lay in your way. You and your legal rights!It is men like you who make the law worse than nothing and turn honestcowmen into criminals. If there is anything in it you will lie to theassessor or rob a poor man's cabin with the best of them, but when itcomes to your legal right to sheep us out you are all for law andorder. Sure, you will uphold the statutes with your life! Look atthose renegade Mexicans, every man armed by you with a rifle and arevolver! Is that the way to come onto another man's range? If you aregoing to sheep us out, you can try it on; but for God's sake cut itout about your sacred rights!"
He rose up in his saddle, haranguing the assembly as he spoke, andonce more Jim Swope felt his cause being weakened by the attacks ofthis vehement little cowman.
"Well, what kin I do about it?" he cried, throwing out his hands invirtuous appeal. "My sheep has got to eat, hain't they?"
"Sure," assented Hardy, "and so have our cattle. But I tell you whatyou can do--you can go out through that pass yonder!"
He pointed at the canyon down which the sheep had come in the Fall, thegreat middle fork which led up over the Four Peaks; but the sheepman'sonly reply was a snarl of refusal.
"Not if I know myself," he muttered spitefully. "How'd do, Judge!" Hefixed his eyes eagerly upon Judge Ware, who was hastening to join inthe struggle. "You're just the man I want to see," he continued,advancing briskly to meet him, "and I want to ask you, here and nowbefore these witnesses, do you claim any right to the exclusive use ofthis land?"
"Why, certainly not, certainly not," answered the judge warmly, "butat the same time I do claim an equity which rises from prior andundisputed possession, and which has always and ought now to protectmy range from any outside invasion."
"Very likely, very likely," remarked Swope dryly. "And now, Judge, Iwant to ask you another question before these witnesses. Did you ordid you not authorize your superintendent and foreman to threaten andintimidate my men and me, with the idea of driving us off this publicland?"
"I did not," replied the judge, his mind suddenly filled with visionsof criminal proceedings. "On the contrary, I have repeatedly warnedthem against any such action."
"At the same time," echoed Swope, quick to follow up his advantage,"these men, who are your agents and employees, have systematicallymoved my herders off this range by armed violence, and your foremanhas just now struck my brother, besides threatening to kill some of usif we don't turn back. I want to tell you right now, Mr. Ware, that Ihave consulted the best lawyers in this Territory as to my rights onpublic lands, and you will be held personally responsible for any actsof violence on the part of your employees. Now I want to ask you onemore question: Do you deny my right to pass through this range on myway to the Sierra Blancas? You don't? Well then, call off these men!"
He paused and jerked his thumb toward Creede and Hardy, grinningevilly, and as he spoke Creede crowded forward, his brow black as athunder cloud.
"I don't take orders from nobody," he cried vehemently, "not now, andnever will. I've got a few hundred head of cows on this range myselfand I intend to protect 'em if I have to kill somebody. You'll have togit another foreman, Judge,--I've quit."
He shot a glance of pitying contempt at the man who had so stupidlymarred their fortunes, then he turned and fixed his burning eyes uponhis archenemy.
"Jim," he said, speaking quietly at last, "my father had ten thousandhead of cattle on this range before you sheepmen came--and that's allI've got left. If you think you can sheep me out, go to it!"
He turned his horse's head toward Hidden Water, never looking back atthe sheep; and the cowmen fell in behind him, glad of an excuse toretreat. What were a bunch of cowboys, armed with six-shooters, tohalf a hundred sheepmen armed with repeating rifles and automaticrevolvers? No, it was better to let the sheep come, let them spreadout and scatter, and then jump the herders at night, if it cameto that. But what, reasoned the cautious ones, were a few hundredhead of cows anyhow, in a losing fight against the law itself? Whatwas a petty revenge upon some low-browed Mexican to the years ofimprisonment in Yuma which might follow? There were some among thatlittle band of cowmen who yelled for action, others who were disgustedenough to quit, and others yet who said nothing, riding by themselvesor exchanging furtive glances with Creede. The Clark boys, BenReavis, and Juan Ortega--these were the men whom the _rodeo_ bossknew he could trust, and none of them spoke a word.
Worn and haggard from his night's riding, Rufus Hardy rode along withJudge Ware and the ladies, explaining the situation to them. Thesheep had come in from the far east, crossing where sheep had nevercrossed before, at the junction of Hell's Hip Pocket Creek and thedrought-shrunk Salagua. They had poured into the Pocket in solidcolumns, sheeping it to the rocks, and had taken the pass beforeeither he or Bill Johnson could get to it. All through the night thesheepmen had been crowding their flocks through the defile untilthere were already twenty or thirty thousand on Bronco Mesa, withfifty thousand to follow. Bill Johnson had shot his way throughthe jam and disappeared into the Pocket, but he could do nothingnow--his little valley was ruined. There would not be a spear ofgrass left for his cattle, and his burros had already come out withthe pack animals of the sheepmen. No one knew what had happened whenhe reached his home, but the Mexican herders seemed to be badlyscared, and Johnson had probably tried to drive them out of thevalley.
All this Hardy explained in a perfectly matter-of-fact way, free fromapprehension or excitement; he listened in respectful silence to JudgeWare's protests against violence and threats of instant departure; andeven humored Kitty's curiosity by admitting that Mr. Johnson, who wasapparently out of his head when he shot the sheep, had probably takena shot or two at the herders, as well. But Lucy Ware was not deceivedby his repose; she saw the cold light in his eyes, the carefulavoidance of any allusion to his own actions, and the studiedconcealment of his future intent. But even then she was not preparedwhen, after supper, her father came into the ranch house and told herthat Mr. Hardy had just resigned.
"I can't imagine why he should leave me at this time," exclaimed thejudge, mopping the sweat from his brow, and groaning with vexation,"but a man who will desert his own father in the way he has done iscapable of anything, I suppose. Just because he doesn't approve of mypolicies in regard to these sheep he coolly says he won't embarrassme further by staying in my employ! I declare, Lucy, I'm afraid I'mgoing to lose everything I have down here if both he and Creede desertme. Don't you think you could persuade Rufus to stay? Go out and seehim and tell him I will consent to anything--except this _unlawfulharrying_ of the sheep."
The old judge, still perspiring with excitement, sank wearily downinto a chair and Lucy came over and sat upon his knee.
"Father," she said, "do you remember that you once told me you wouldgive me this ranch if I wanted it? Well, I want it now, and perhaps ifyou give it to me Rufus will consent to stay."
"But, daughter--" protested the judge, and then he sat quiet,pondering upon the matter.
"Perhaps you are right," he said at last. "But tell me one thing--t
hereis nothing between you and Rufus, is there?"
He turned her face so that he could look into her honest eyes, butLucy twisted her head away, blushing.
"No," she said faintly. "He--he is in love with Kitty."
"With Kitty!" cried Judge Ware, outraged at the idea. "Why, he--butnever mind, never mind, darling. I am glad at least that it is notwith you. We must be going home soon now, anyway, and that will breakoff this--er--But I don't remember having seen them together much!"
"No," said Lucy demurely, "he has been very discreet. But you haven'tanswered my question, father. Will you give me the ranch if I getRufus to stay? Oh, you're a dear! Now you just leave everything in myhands and see what a good business woman I am!"
She skipped lightly out the door and hurried over to where Hardy andJefferson Creede were sitting under a tree, talking gravely together.They stopped as she approached and Hardy looked up a little sullenlyfrom where he sat. Then he rose, and took off his hat.
"May I have a few words with you on a matter of business, Rufus?" sheasked, with her friendliest smile. "No, don't go, Mr. Creede; you areinterested in this, too. In fact," she added mysteriously, "I needyour assistance."
A slow smile crept into the rough cowboy's eyes as he sat watchingher.
"What can I do for you?" he inquired guardedly.
"Well," answered Lucy, "the situation is like this--and I'm not tryingto rope you in on anything, as you say, so you needn't looksuspicious. My father has become so discouraged with the way thingsare going that he has given the entire Dos S Ranch to me--if I canmanage it. Now I know that you both have quit because you don'tapprove of my father's orders about the sheep. I don't know what yourplans are but I want to get a new superintendent, and that's where Ineed your assistance, Mr. Creede."
She paused long enough to bestow a confiding smile upon the _rodeo_boss, and then hurried on to explain her position.
"Of course you understand how it is with father. He has been a judge,and it wouldn't do for a man in his position to break the laws. But Iwant you two men to tell me before you go just what you think I oughtto do to save my cattle, and you can say whatever you please. Mr.Creede, if you were a woman and owned the Dos S outfit, what would youdo about the sheep?"
For a minute Creede sat silent, surveying the little lady from beneathhis shaggy hair.
"Well," he said judicially, "I think I'd do one of two things: I'deither marry some nice kind man whose judgment I could trust, and turnthe job over to him,"--he glanced sideways at Hardy as he spoke,--"orI'd hire some real mean, plug-ugly feller to wade in and clean 'emout. Failin' in that, I think I'd turn the whole outfit over to Rufehere and go away and fergit about it."
He added these last words with a frank directness which left no doubtas to his own convictions in the matter, and Lucy turned an inquiringeye upon Hardy. He was busily engaged in pounding a hole in the groundwith a rock, and Lucy noted for the first time a trace of silver inhis hair. The setting sun cast deep shadows in the set lines of hisface and when he finally looked up his eyes were bloodshot andhaggard.
"There's no use in talking to me about that job," he said morosely."I've got tired of taking orders from a man that doesn't know whathe's talking about, and I want to use my own judgment for a while. Wewon't let anything happen to your cattle, Miss Lucy, and I thank youvery much, but I'm afraid I can't do it."
He stopped, and bowed his head, hammering moodily away at his hole inthe rocky ground.
"Excuse me a minute, Miss Ware," said Creede, rising to his feet asthe silence became oppressive. "Come over here, Rufe, I want to talkwith you."
They stood with their heads together, Jeff tapping the little man onthe chest with every word, and still there was the same doggedresistance. "Well, come on and let's find out," protested Creede atlast, impatiently dragging him back.
"Miss Ware," he said politely, "what do you expect of this here supe?I might want that job myself, later on," he observed importantly.
Lucy smiled at the bare-faced fraud and hastened to abet it.
"I expect him to look after my cattle," she responded promptly, "andto protect my best interests according to his own judgment. The onlything I insist upon is that he leave his gun at home."
"I'm sorry," said Creede briefly. "And I needed the job, too," headded lugubriously. "How about your foreman?" he inquired, as ifsnatching at a straw. "Same thing, eh? Well, I'll go you--nextmonth."
He laughed, shrugged his shoulders, and crowded his big black sombrerodown over his eyes until it gave him a comical air of despair.
"Luck's gone," he remarked, reaching parenthetically for a cigarettepaper. "See you later." And, with a last roguish twinkle at Miss Lucy,he slouched off toward the fire.
His luck indeed had gone, but somewhere in that giant carcass whichharbored the vindictive hate of an Apache, and the restless energy ofa Texano, there still lingered the exuberant joyousness of a boy, theindomitable spirit of the pioneer, resigned to any fate so long asthere is a laugh in it. As he drifted into the crowd Lucy's heart wentout to him; he was so big and strong and manly in this, the finaleclipse of his waning fortunes.
"Mr. Creede is a noble kind of a man, isn't he?" she said, turning towhere Hardy was still standing. "Won't you sit down, Rufus, and let'stalk this over for a minute. But before you decide anything, I wantyou to get a good night's sleep. You are a free man now, you know, andif there's any worrying to be done it's my funeral--isn't it?"
If he heard her at all Hardy made no response to the jest. He stoodbefore her, swaying dizzily as he groped about for his hat, which hadfallen from his hand. Then at last a faint smile broke through thedrawn lines in his face.
"That's right," he said, sinking down at her side, and as he settledback against the tree his eyes closed instantly, like a child whosebedtime has come. "I'm--I'm so dead tired I can't talk straight,Lucy--to say nothing of think. But--I'll take care of you. We aren'tsheeped out yet. Only--only I can't--I forget what I'm going to say."His head fell forward as he spoke, his hands hung heavy, and heslipped slowly to the ground, fast asleep.
After two days and nights of turmoil and passion his troubles wereended, suddenly; and as she raised him up Lucy Ware bent down quicklyunder cover of the dusk and kissed his rumpled hair.